


Final Moments

by Anonymous



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Nuclear Apocalypse, This is not H/C because there is practically no comfort, death by demon poisoning, death by nuclear blast, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 10:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19004113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What is it about Shadowhunters?” he asked, his voice cracked. “What makes you fall so hard for them?”“I don’t know,” Magnus replied in what was almost a whisper. “Maybe it’s the way they love you back.”Lorenzo gritted his teeth.“Nephilim love only once, and fiercely,” Magnus went on, in a gentle, careful voice. “Maybe that’s why. Immortal or not, for them, you are their forever.”“A forever that barely lasted two years,” Lorenzo whispered





	Final Moments

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from but I wanted it out of my head.

No one knew where the monstrosity had come from, or who had summoned it. It had crawled out of the swamps, according to the sensors of the New Orleans Institute, and attacked the southern part of the city after swimming up the Mississippi river.

The New Orleans Institute had called in back-up from Institutes all over the States, and added the request that they bring a few warlocks with them, if those would be willing to cooperate.

No one knew what the thing was and what kind of poison it injected into its victims, but after several hours of fighting it, it became clear that even warlock magic could not help those that had been hit by the thorn-tipped tentacles. Within half an hour, those poor men and women, Shadowhunters and mundane alike, turned into creatures worse than Forsaken, attacking everyone around them, black ichor foaming at mouths and noses and running down their cheeks in acid tears. But in those damaged, frenzied grimaces, human eyes still stared at those they attacked, their voices, distorted and tortured, begging for help. Shadowhunters had to cut down their own friends and comrades, both to save themselves and to deliver them from the horror invading their bodies that cruelly left their minds untouched.

Shadowhunters from Houston, Dallas, Atlanta and Orlando were already engaged in the fighting when the team from New York portalled in. They met with the team from Alicante, and while a large part of the Shadowhunters now tried to clear the perimeter in an attempt to contain the monster and its rampaging victims, a strike team of the best warriors and most powerful warlocks went in for direct confrontation to draw the creature out of the city, closer to the swamps, to put it down.

The resulting blast, when the combined power of seven warlocks finally obliterated the creature after the Shadowhunters had weakened it with countless wound while suffering heavy losses, levelled almost a square mile of vegetation. Only the hastily cast shields of those warlocks saved them all from being annihilated too.

During the chase, while trying to drive the monster out of the city, Lorenzo had lost sight of Andrew, and now that it was finally over, the first thing he did was activate what little was left of his magic to track him.

He found him in the rubble of a collapsed building, severely injured and barely conscious. Several large glass shards had cut into his arms and legs, but one of those cuts had bitten deeply into his thigh. He was bleeding heavily, and Lorenzo hastily threw a tendril of magic around the leg as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

After carefully gathering the wounded Shadowhunter in his arms he gently poured some magic into his chest to heal him, but Andrew opened his eyes and laboriously lifted one hand to close it around Lorenzo’s, pulling it away.

“It got me,” he rasped. “It’s too late.”

“No.” Lorenzo said firmly, trying to swallow the panic rising in his chest. “No, I will have you patched you up in no time.”

“No.” Andrew took a hard, laboured breath. “It got me.” And with his free hand, he tugged his shirt up, just a little, to reveal a small, ragged wound next to his navel, perfectly round and already blackening at the edges. He looked up, into Lorenzo’s eyes, and gasped for air.

Lorenzo had to close his eyes for a moment. “No,” he said then, voice trembling. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You know you can’t do anything,” Andrew rasped. “There’s nothing...”

Shaking his head, Lorenzo closed his fingers around Andrew’s. Their eyes met, and now he was fighting his tears. He could see the faint traces of grey saliva collecting in the corners of Andrew’s lips, but in sheer, stubborn despair he still poured all his magic into Andrew’s chest to fight the poison. Because he would be damned, he would drain himself of his very life before he would give up on the man he loved.

“Lorenzo...” Andrew sputtered, a bit of grey foam falling from his lips. “Please... please don’t let it have me.”

“It’s gone, my love,” Lorenzo said, his voice much calmer than he felt. “The creature is dead.”

Andrew was clearly in pain, and he closed his eyes, fighting for the next breath. “Please don’t... don’t let me turn into one of those... things... please... please don’t let me turn...”

His eyes burning, Lorenzo shook his head in helpless denial.

But he knew that nothing could stop the poison from turning his Shadowhunter into a raging monster, forcing it to attack everyone he saw until someone put him out of his misery.

“Don’t let me... turn...” Andrew begged and grimaced. “It burns... Angel... it burns me...” His legs were twitching. “Please don’t... don’t let me become one of those... those things...”

Lorenzo lost his fight against the tears, and he blinked a few times to clear his vision. The painful, bitter truth was that he was helpless; all his powers, High Warlock or not, were useless against this poison. He couldn’t save him. He couldn’t save the man he loved.  
Pulling him close so Andrew’s head rested against his shoulders, Lorenzo closed his eyes, let his tears flow as they pleased, and lowered his head to drop a kiss onto Andrew’s forehead. “I won’t,” he whispered, and with trembling hands, everything inside him screaming _no_ , he loosened the tendril of magic around Andrew’s leg.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew whispered breathlessly, voice cracking.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love,” Lorenzo whispered back. The gentle flow of magic he poured into Andrew’s chest was only numbing his pain now, nothing else.

“But I... I wanted more.” Andrew coughed, a painful, racking sound. “More time...”

“I know.” Lorenzo breathed a kiss onto his temple. “I know.”

Andrew’s voice was hardly audible anymore. “I... I don’t... want to... leave you...”

Lorenzo didn’t know what to reply. He remained there on his knees in the rubble, rocking Andrew back and forth in his arms with his face buried in blonde, dirty, blood-crusted hair, even long after he couldn’t feel the faint tremble of breath against the skin of his neck anymore.

* * *

After watching the wisp of white essence vanish into the sky, Lorenzo remained frozen on the spot, staring at the empty shell lying amongst too many others, covered with a white, translucent sheet.

He was gone.

A hand landed gently on his shoulders, but Lorenzo was unable to move. He knew the touch however, a glance from the corner of his eyes caught the gleam of silver rings.

“What is it about Shadowhunters?” he asked, his voice cracked. “What makes you fall so hard for them?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus replied in what was almost a whisper. “Maybe it’s the way they love you back.”

Lorenzo gritted his teeth.

“Nephilim love only once, and fiercely,” Magnus went on, in a gentle, careful voice. “Maybe that’s why. Immortal or not, for them, you are their forever.”

“A forever that barely lasted two years,” Lorenzo whispered.

Magnus’ other hand came to rest on his other shoulder, and Lorenzo turned around, looked into the eyes of the man who had once been his rival and almost enemy, but had become a friend during the recent years. He could see the sorrow, the compassion, in Magnus’ eyes, the only person who understood how it felt to love a Nephilim, and how it felt to lose him.

And Lorenzo stepped into the wordlessly offered embrace, beyond being ashamed of tears as Magnus’ arms closed around him.

* * *

Maybe Lorenzo became a little reckless during the months that followed New Orleans. Maybe he took risks that were a little too great, went into battles with a little too much abandon. Maybe he stopped caring for a while if he lived or died.

The collapsing warehouse should have done him in, because he had made sure every single one of the kidnapped warlock children had made it out before he himself headed for the entrance. The bomb had been magically enhanced, its explosion tearing the whole building apart.

A slab of concrete ceiling landed upright just in front of him, and with a cold feeling of dread, Lorenzo watched it fall over. But instead of crushing him it fell against the wall, and in that small triangular cave, Lorenzo managed to survive the catastrophe against all expectations.

“Seems your guardian angel has been working overtime,” Jace said jokingly as Lorenzo crawled out of the rubble, battered, bruised, and covered in scrapes, but alive.

Lorenzo looked back over his shoulder at the small tent of concrete that had saved his life, and wondered. But he couldn’t say if that thought was more comforting or more painful.

But sometimes it’s the little things, the tiniest, seemingly most insignificant things that keep you from falling over the edge.

For Lorenzo, it was Asmodeus.

He had been a birthday present from Andrew, a hideous chameleon that hissed at everyone and had bitten Lorenzo more than once. Andrew had affectionately called it Buttface. Lorenzo had named it Asmodeus, had conjured up a beautiful terrarium, and had read several books about reptile care in general and chameleons in particular.

And now, after Andrew’s death, Asmodeus was the only thing that remained of him. The nasty little animal had been a gift from his lover, and now caring about it was sometimes the one thing that brought Lorenzo home after getting too close to risking his life in one magical confrontation or another.

The ritual wasn’t overly involved, and required little in terms of preparation or spell ingredients.

Of course, Lorenzo couldn’t ask what the ill-tempered reptile thought about the fact he was now Lorenzo’s very own familiar, but it would probably have nothing against being immortal as well now, so that was that.

At least something of Andrew Underhill would stay with him forever. It was one of the few things that gave him comfort during the decades that followed his death.

* * *

The end of the world was not the Armageddon caused by the wrath of god. It was brought upon by human hands, the reasons petty greed and senseless hate, the weapons destroying the world for everyone.

A lot of Nephilim fled to Idris, where they would remain protected by the shields until the very air was no longer trying to poison them.

Most Downworlders found refuge in the Seelie realm. The Seelie queen even graciously offered shelter to the Nephilim who could not make it to Idris, legacy of the peace and prosperity established by the first High Warlock of Alicante and his husband, Inquisitor and later Consul of the Clave.

A few warlocks had created lairs outside of space and time to stay safely out of harm’s way, and a few vampire claves had holed up in shelters, stocked up on blood packs, and went into a hiatus, unaffected by radiation due to their state of un-death.

Lorenzo himself had helped portal Downworlders and Nephilim to safety until he was almost drained, the panic of the first nuclear strike still sitting in everyone’s bones. That left one thing for him to do, but despite everyone calling him a cursed fool for turning away from the last portal, he could not leave Asmodeus behind.

Maybe going back for a reptile, even if he was his familiar, had been a bad idea. New York and the area around it was seething with radiation, and the magic under Lorenzo’s skin was burning itself up much faster than it could regenerate, trying to keep the damage from the radiation at bay.

And all for nothing.

Despite being far from the first impact, Lorenzo’s mansion and everything else within miles and miles was all but obliterated, and it took only a single glance to know that nothing and no one could have survived this devastation.

With his magic running dangerously low, Lorenzo knew that he couldn’t open a portal anymore, but he also knew there was an entrance to the Seelie realm not too far away, down at the beach. The Seelies had left all entrances to their world open, to give the stray Downworlders, or maybe odd mundane, the chance for survival if they could find it.

Drained of magic and already slightly affected by radiation Lorenzo made his way down to the beach. Just less than ten minutes, and he would be safe.

The hissing above was an all too familiar sound, and Lorenzo stumbled to a halt, looking up. The missile was already going low, the trajectory pointing at the ground close to New York.

And Lorenzo knew that within a minute or two, the nuclear blast would wash across the expanse of New York yet again, and he was caught right in the middle of it. He would not make it to the Seelie realm.

Exhaling softly, he turned away, his back to the missile, and sank to his knees. He briefly wondered if he was close enough that the blast would annihilate him instantly, or if he would be burnt alive when the heat wave hit him.

Lorenzo could hear and feel the impact. So maybe he was close enough that it would be over quickly. He still wondered if it would hurt, and if so, how long.

But at that moment he felt something warm press against his back, and something closed around him, muting all sounds like a thick, warm blanket. A pair of arms encased him and pulled him against a broad and muscled chest.

And then a voice Lorenzo had so painfully missed for all those years whispered into his ear.

“Shh, don’t be afraid. I got you.”

Shuddering, Lorenzo opened his eyes. He was locked in an embrace by strong arms, but what enclosed him too was a pair of large wings, snow-white feathers coated in a faint shimmer of gold. Then he looked up, and realised he couldn’t see the sky anymore.

He leaned forward, and the arms around him loosened their grip. Then Lorenzo carefully turned around to look at the angel’s face.

A gentle hand rested on his cheek. “Lorenzo.”

“Andrew?” Lorenzo felt a lump in his throat the size of a brick. “I missed you...”

“And yet I was never gone.” Andrew’s thumb now caressed his cheekbone.

“That slab of concrete,” Lorenzo began hesitantly, “that was you, wasn’t it?”

Andrew nodded. “And a few times after that as well.”

“You were my guardian angel.” A trace of awe mingled with the pain in Lorenzo’s voice.

“I was. I told you I didn’t want to leave you. And by the grace of the angels, I was allowed to stay with you.”

“And now?” Lorenzo looked up again. “I am dead now, am I not?”

“Yes.” It was spoken softly, gently, but it didn’t come as a shock.

Lorenzo looked at the face again that had haunted his dreams, into the blue eyes that he had missed so much. “Well... it brought us back together.” His voice was only slightly unsteady. “So being dead doesn’t seem too bad.”

“No,” Andrew said softly, a small, gentle smile appearing on his face. “It’s not so bad.”

“And what happens now?” Lorenzo asked hesitantly.

“Now, we pass on.” The wings around them vanished and Andrew got up, offering Lorenzo a hand.

New York around them had gone, replaced by a grey emptiness.

“Where to?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew smiled and took one of Lorenzo’s hands.

“But you have died?” Lorenzo tool hold of those fingers with his own.

“Yes, but I didn’t pass on. I stayed with you, to wait for you so we can pass on together.”

“But...” Lorenzo took a slightly shaky breath. “Can we even share the same afterlife? You’re part angel, and I am part demon.”

“You’re part demon, yes.” Andrew stepped closer, and gently brought their foreheads together. “But you are not a bad man, Lorenzo. But wherever you go, you won’t be going alone.”

“I guess that’s all I could wish for now,” Lorenzo whispered back, eyes closed. “Even though I have to admit... I am afraid of what kind of afterlife awaits the son of a greater demon.”

“The one that awaits the soul of a good man.” Andrew leaned back and gently kissed Lorenzo’s forehead.

“I still doubt I would be able to join the angelic choirs with you.”

“And is that what you want?” A tiny smile played around Andrew’s lips, making his eyes crinkle.

“Honestly...” Lorenzo sighed. “What I wish for is another lifetime. With you. Not as... as someone else who doesn’t remember. As you and me.”

Andrew smiled, and threaded their fingers together. “I would like that too.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and leaned closer. A gentle kiss, lips on lips for a single heartbeat, before they leaned back. The grey twilight had given way to darkness now, and Andrew took a deep breath.

“It is time,” he said.

Lorenzo turned around, looking at the light.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I’m here with you,” Andrew whispered back.

Their fingers entwined, holding on to each other’s hands, they stood there for another moment, before they slowly stepped into the light.

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Look at you! You have got some moves.”

“She’s not the only one who’s got some moves.”

“A Shadowhunter complimenting a warlock?”

“Andrew Underhill.”

“Lorenzo Rey.”

“It’s a pleasure.”


End file.
